


His name in vain

by prowlish



Series: commissions [12]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Bickering, Humor, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 19:52:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8070526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prowlish/pseuds/prowlish
Summary: Having some private fun on a cozy shuttle takes a different turn than Ratchet expected.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [extension_cord](https://archiveofourown.org/users/extension_cord/gifts).



> This was a commission for a friend. Thanks a lot! This was fun!! I hope you like it ;u;/

Space was limited on the shuttle anyway, but especially so with two mechs on board… not that they’d ended up minding. Not when, after the immediate threat of danger had passed, their reunion had become something more of a -- what did the humans call it? “Honeymoon”? 

 

What a ridiculous, sentimental word -- that was only absolutely perfect. It kept creeping into Ratchet’s consciousness when he least expected it -- surveying new planets as he leaned over Drift’s shoulder; taking verbal pot-shots that, by now, were definitely less acidic than they sounded; but never more than when curled up in the cabin’s bunk, Drift’s helm resting on his shoulder as he read through some text or another on a datapad.

 

Or at least, that’s what they  _ had _ been doing, before Drift had stopped snoozing and started getting  _ ideas. _ But when those ideas involved Drift slinking down his frame, flashing flirtatious optics up at him as he peppered kisses down his plating…? Ratchet didn’t mind putting aside his reading.

 

It was a fact that Drift noted with a smirk. Ratchet narrowed his optics in return, but his gaze lingered on the new paint tracing the curves of his cheeks. He was still getting used to that. Not that Drift wasn’t gorgeous no matter what, but Ratchet kept it to himself this time. No need to inflate his head, not when he was so clearly full of himself already.

 

Grudgingly, Ratchet had to admit that Drift had good reason to be so pleased with himself -- he’d already perfectly mapped out Ratchet’s upgraded frame and memorized every little sensitive spot. With hardly any effort at all, Drift had him gasping and twisting on the berth, ready and squirming already by the time that smug mouth was kissing and teasing his panels.

 

Ratchet murmured a curse, static heat thrilling up his backstruts from the fingertips playing in the seams on his hips. He could  _ feel _ Drift’s lips shift into a little smile against his pelvic plating -- and then against his array as he finally relented and opened his panels.

 

Tilting his helm forward, Ratchet peered down his frame just in time to see Drift, optics half-shuttered, ghost his lips in feather-like kisses up the underside of his spike. “Frag,” he hissed, helm tipping back again as Drift wrapped his lips around the head of his spike and  _ sucked _ .

 

Drift’s field fluttered against his own, warm with eagerness and lust and satisfaction. Damn -- either Drift had lost touch for regulating it how he used to, or… he was just that open with Ratchet now.

 

Would it be too much wishful thinking to decide on the latter?

 

But he had no time, really, for such thoughts -- not as Drift slipped two digits into his  _ very _ eager valve, drawing another pleased noise from Ratchet’s vocalizer. He did let his own field flare out, though, sparking against Drift’s and sending an explosion of sensation through his sensor net, plating trembling as he arched -- and was held in place by Drift’s strong hand on his hip. 

 

The swordsmech kept on, unrelenting; rolling their fields together, his mouth hot and close around his spike, and his other hand still thrusting into his valve and finding every charged node he could reach. 

 

Stars abound, it was almost too much! A few more strangled words escaped him, more epithets he was sure -- Drift liked telling him that he had the dirtiest mouth in the berth, and not for the usual reasons. Like it mattered. 

 

...Except maybe it did? He flickered his optics as he realized Drift had paused, and he blinked again as he felt -- shaking?

 

Ratchet sat up in a hurry, worried, reaching for Drift’s shoulder. “Hey -- Drift -- you okay?”

 

Drift had covered his face with a hand -- thankfully, Ratchet noted distantly, the one that hadn’t been two fingers deep in his valve -- but he’d shifted as Ratchet touched him and… he was  _ laughing _ ?

 

Instantly affronted, Ratchet smacked Drift’s shoulder instead. “And what the frag are you laughing about!” he demanded, voice still staticy from lingering charge. 

 

Drift peered up at him, optics glittering in mirth above the hand that still covered his mouth. “You didn’t even hear yourself, did you?” he asked, shoulders shaking in suppressed laughter. 

 

“What?” Ratchet growled. “No, what are you blabberin’ about? I thought we were past the scrap about how much I curse.”

 

“Yes, but that’s not  _ all _ you said,” Drift replied. Primus, he looked downright  _ gleeful _ \--

 

Primus?

 

_ Frag _ . He’d let that slip, hadn’t he. Groaning, Ratchet flopped backwards on the berth. “You are  _ such _ a fragging pain in the aft,” he groused at the ceiling.

 

Drift laughed again. Ratchet had never been so conflicted about hearing Drift laugh -- when it was joyful, it was beautiful -- but  _ dammit _ , he was annoyed and still all charged up! He frowned down his frame at Drift, with a huff from his vents. “It’s just a damn name, kid.” 

 

Drift grinned at him, resting both hands on Ratchet’s hips again. “One you’ve been  _ so _ careful never to say,” he practically cooed.

 

“Because I know how fragging insufferable you are!” Drift was still laughing. Would it be fair game to kick him at this point? Ratchet was seriously wondering. “Drift…” Ratchet huffed. The mech didn’t show any sign of stopping soon. Fine. He wanted to have a laugh?

 

Ratchet sat up again, so suddenly that Drift actually shut up. Amazing. He seemed on the verge of saying something, but Ratchet didn’t give him the chance. He sprang forward, solid frame knocking Drift back and pinning him. Drift blinked up at him, shocked, and it was Ratchet’s turn to smirk at him.

 

Drift wasn’t the only one who’d memorized his partner’s new frame, but Ratchet was employing it in a different way -- his fingers dancing lightly over vulnerable spots on his sides. Drift tensed before an involuntary giggle burst from his lips. His optics widened as he gasped out, “Ratchet -- ”

 

But Ratchet proved relentless. He sought every sensitive spot, continuing to tickle him as Drift laughed and squirmed, trying to buck him away, but Ratchet had just the right leverage. Several times he tried to say something -- Ratchet’s name, some string of curses, who knew -- but his vents kept hitching and the only thing that escaped him was more giggles and hysterics. 

 

Eventually, though, Ratchet’s earlier neglected charge began to buzz through his circuits again and he ceased. This time, he peered down at Drift with a smug grin. “Now. There was something to laugh about.”

 

The look Drift gave him in return was almost pouty. He tried to squirm from beneath Ratchet again, but the medic kept him pinned -- at least, long enough for his hands to move south on Drift’s frame. That, it seemed, was all it took to get Drift moving  _ into _ his touch. Naturally. Not too pouty for  _ that _ .

 

“Mm, where did all of that smugness go?” Ratchet asked.

 

Drift snorted. “Flowed right into you, apparently.” But whatever else he was, Drift was eager to open up into Ratchet’s touch, his spike warm and ready in Ratchet’s hand as he stroked its length.

 

Honestly, with the way Drift was making a pretty show of arching and rumbling his engine, Ratchet wished he could draw it out more… but he was so pent up already. 

 

...There was always later, he thought with some satisfaction. The perks of having a ship to yourself. 

 

And it was always worth it, watching Drift’s features as he brought their equipment together, his valve slick and hot against the head of Drift’s spike -- and Drift’s soft moan as he sank down. Ratchet’s plating shivered.

 

Mirroring his thought earlier, Ratchet hummed to himself as he began rocking his hips, his vents panting as he watched the mech beneath him; Ratchet had plenty to be smug about as well. He was reminded with every little noise wrung from Drift’s vocalizer, every tremble of his plating beneath Ratchet’s hands, every eager buck of his hips to meet Ratchet’s.

 

Ratchet was aware this was more like a reward for bad behavior than revenge… well, he’d turned the tables, at least. There was no way he could regret it -- the feeling of Drift’s spike hitting every sweet spot in his valve was divine, especially when he squeezed tight around the mech’s length. Drift let out a near  _ whine _ of a sound, giving Ratchet both a flush of victory and desire.

 

“Drift…” he murmured, dropping their hips flush again, shivering at the feeling of Drift’s spike fully seated within him. That got the other mech looking at him again. Ratchet held Drift’s gaze, panting lightly as he ground his hips in small circles, teasing the tip of Drift’s spike against the furthest nodes in his valve. “ _ Frag. _ ”

 

Drift snorted -- something that could’ve been a laugh, if he weren’t so busy gasping and thrusting his hips up, desperately seeking the overload they were both rapidly approaching.

 

Ratchet leaned down, pressing his lips to Drift’s painted cheek as he panted, still rocking his hips back, in tandem with Drift’s movements. So what did it matter anyway if he uttered a “Primus” amidst a slew of dirtier words, he wondered? It was just a word, just something to say in moments like this when something as straightforward as interfacing seemed… transcendent.

 

Overload burned like fire through his circuits, catching him almost by surprise; Ratchet muffled another moan against Drift’s neck, working his hips back and through it, and feeling another burst of pleasure as Drift overloaded as well.

 

He shuddered, plating rattling, going slack against Drift’s frame as his plating roared. After a moment, Ratchet lifted his helm -- only to be instantly snagged in a kiss as lazy and messy as their frames were.

 

And then Drift chuckled against his lips.

 

Ratchet didn’t quite have the energy to roll his optics yet. “What?” he grunted, fully aware he might regret asking.

 

“Mmm I think you said it again....”

 

“Said wh--  _ Drift _ .” Ratchet glared at him, optics narrowing as he squirmed, gasping as it dislodged Drift’s spike from his valve. “I did  _ not _ \-- shut up!”

 

Drift just laughed as he pulled Ratchet close again, rolling them over with the clear intent to  _ cuddle. _

 

Primus help him.

**Author's Note:**

> visit me on [@prowlish](https://twitter.com/prowlish) on twitter!! :)


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